Forbidden Fire (Forbidden #2)

by Kimberly Kinrade

  A chorus of "No's" started around the room.

  Luke tried again. "Raise your hand if you can use your para-power."

  Everyone looked around. No one raised their hands.

  "Has this ever happened to anyone before?" Lucy asked.

  More "No's."

  Before a full-fledged panic could start, the loudspeakers crackled to life. "LUKE AND LUCY, PLEASE REPORT TO THE HEADMASTER'S OFFICE IMMEDIATELY."

  Lucy's heart skipped a beat. Luke's brow furrowed in concern and he balled his fists at his side. Were they in trouble? Did the headmaster know about the meetings? Or about the failed powers?

  "Come on." Luke pulled her up, then addressed the rest of the group. "Everything will be fine. You should all go back to your rooms and pretend nothing's happened. We'll see you at the meeting on Thursday, if not sooner."

  The twins walked out of the classroom and made their way to Headmaster Higgins's office. Lucy knew they were thinking the same thoughts, feeling the same fears. Talking would be pointless.

  ***

  They sat in the plush waiting room for what seemed like hours. Lucy spun her finger in her hair, over and over. Luke stared at the wall, probably wishing he could just walk through it and into Headmaster Higgins's office without permission.

  Ms. Bradley clicked away at the computer, ignoring them—as usual.

  "How much longer do you think?" Lucy asked.

  "He should be out shortly," she said without looking up.

  Truth or Lie? Who could tell anymore? Lucy stood and paced the room while humming off-tune. Maybe she could annoy Ms. Bradley into hurrying this process along.

  She earned an evil look from the secretary, but nothing more.

  Finally, Headmaster Higgins buzzed for them to go in. Ms. Bradley stood to escort them.

  "I think we can find our own way. But thanks for being so helpful." Lucy didn't even try to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

  Luke and Lucy sat in expensive leather seats in front of the headmaster's giant mahogany desk. It defined him as much as his tailored pinstripe suits, and shiny shoes as dark as his skin. Lucy cleared her throat impatiently.

  Higgins looked up, as though he'd just noticed they were there.

  Luke's mouth gaped open in shock.

  Lucy inhaled the bitter words on her lips.

  Higgins had aged ten years since they saw him just the other day. His hollow cheeks and sagging red eyes made him look sickly.

  "Are you okay?" Lucy asked. She knew better than anyone that people never answered that question honestly. Would her powers work now?

  "No. Not really. As you've undoubtedly noticed, things are changing around here, and it's been very stressful."

  Damn, I didn't expect him to tell the truth. I need a way to see if my powers are working.

  "But that's not why I've called you in here," Higgins said. "I have an assignment for the two of you."

  Lucy's jaw dropped. "I thought assignments were on hold for a while."

  "They were, but this just came down from way higher up than me. It's important, so we need a seasoned team to take it on. You two are the best we have."

  Luke tensed his shoulders, but reached for the file Higgins dropped on the desk. He shuffled through the papers as Lucy strained to see over his shoulder.

  After a cursory skim he handed the stack to Lucy. "You want us to infiltrate a Russian lab and steal research material? Why? What's so important that this has to be done now?"

  "The why isn't your concern. Your only job is to complete the assignment and bring back the necessary information."

  Lucy looked up from the files. "Is this even a real assignment? Or are we being punished because we hung out with Sam?"

  She tried to tap her powers, but couldn't be sure they were working. Luke nudged her and brushed his hand through the desk. His powers worked. Hers should too, right?

  "You're not being punished. We need you in the field."

  Lucy frowned. If her powers were working properly, then he was telling the truth. Something didn't feel right about any of this, however. "Our powers stopped working today for a few minutes. We don't know why. What if this happens while we're on assignment? Has this happened to anyone else?"

  She had to risk some exposure to get answers. Besides, losing powers on a job could be deadly, and Lucy wasn't ready to die just yet.

  "You'll get a full exam in the clinic before you leave. I'm sure everything will be fine."

  Truth, and lie. Nothing was fine.

  "When do we leave?"

  "You have a week. All the documents and IDs are being prepared. In the meantime, go about your normal schedule."

  Lucy scoffed. "Normal? In this war zone? Yeah right."

  Higgins's shoulders sagged. "I'm sure things will get back to normal eventually."

  Lucy felt a pressure build in her body, and her head buzzed. Higgins had lied.

  Chapter 10 – Sam

  "Couldn't you tell this Higgins guy was lying to you the whole time?" Brad asked.

  Outside our car, the hills and mountains changed only in their angle, moving in and out of shades of green. My brain hurt from answering his questions. How could I explain to someone something I didn't even understand myself?

  "First," I said, "that's not how mind reading works. People's thoughts are really complicated, and they don't always come in words or follow linear patterns. Second, even though my best friend is a human lie detector, no, we never caught him in a lie. Towards the end of my stay, after Drake was captured, Higgins's thoughts disturbed me, but until then I had no reason to suspect anything."

  Drake took a deep breath in the back seat and shifted his body to get more comfortable in his nap. I wished I could fall asleep, but Brad had too many questions.

  Brad glanced at me briefly, then fixed his eyes back on the winding road. "So seventeen years, and you never thought they were lying about what happens when you leave?"

  Shame filled me. I should've known. What good was a freaking mind-reading spy if she couldn't catch on to the biggest secret of all? "No. I told you, it wasn't like that. We were treated well. We had everything we ever needed, and the organization was careful. I really believe that most of the staff and faculty didn't even know the full truth. I assume that those who did know were never allowed around us."

  "Then how did you figure it out so fast? I mean, Drake shows up and boom, all your trust is gone?"

  "Not just boom. First, the fact that he'd been kidnapped was enough to give me pause. We'd never seen anyone brought to Rent-A-Kid against his will. Second, and this is just a theory, I think Drake messed things up for them."

  Brad slurped his soda and put it back in the cup holder. "How so?"

  I gripped the armrest of my car door tightly, relieved when both of his hands were back on the wheel. This road did not look forgiving with its twisty, sharp turns and steep, midnight dips into nothing. "Just the way the whole situation was handled. Getting me pregnant so fast, Drake's being held at Rent-A-Kid at all, the random thoughts I caught running through people—it was sloppy, and they don't strike me as sloppy. Something happened to derail their plan. What exactly? I don't know."

  Brad's mouth tightened into a grimace. I resisted the urge to slip into his mind. My brain needed a break.

  "Okay, but wh—"

  "Stop!" I raised my hand as though it could defend me from his questions. "I know you have a story to write, but can we save the third degree for later? I'm exhausted."

  The muscles in his face softened, and his grip on the steering wheel loosened a fraction. "Sure, of course. I'm sorry, Sam, I don't mean to push you. I'm just trying to understand. My readers, assuming I get any, will be wondering the same things. But we can pick up some other time. We should be getting to the cabin soon, anyway."

  I rested my forehead against the cool glass window. "What's he like, your professor?"

  "Professor Shaw is... well, you'll see soon enough. He's a character."

  His soft smile
told me more than any words could have. I looked forward to meeting this man.

  ***

  I stiffened in momentary panic, unsure of how much time had passed. Then I remembered the car, Brad, the cabin, and the muscles in my stomach unclenched. I massaged the kinks in my neck with one hand while wiping my eyes with the other.

  "How long was I asleep?" I asked Brad.

  "Only about thirty minutes. We're almost there."

  Drake shifted in the back seat, and I sensed his consciousness waking. 'I missed you.'

  "I'm right here."

  'I know. I just miss touching you.'

  Drake reached through the gap between the seats to take over rubbing my neck.

  Brad pulled the car into the dirt driveway of a large log cabin that sat in a copse of trees.

  My stiff muscles protested as I stretched. "Are you sure it's okay to show up without calling?"

  "He can't be mad at surprise visitors when he refuses to keep a phone."

  I couldn't wrap my mind around why a grown man, who'd spent half his life as a journalist and the other half teaching, would want to seclude himself from the world so thoroughly.

  I looked around the property. Majestic pines soared to the sky, their brown needles littering the forest floor. The log cabin looked more spacious than I'd expected, with large windows on every wall. "This place does have indoor plumbing, right? Because I'm so not squatting outside."

  Brad stopped the car and opened his door. "Yeah, it's got plumbing, and electricity. Just no phone. Don't worry. Let's go."

  Drake somehow beat me to my own door and opened it before I could even touch the handle. He offered his hand, and I placed mine in it, relishing the warmth of the contact. The guys grabbed the bags, and we walked up a few wooden steps to the front door. The smell of pine assaulted me as we approached.

  Brad knocked once, rang the doorbell and waited.

  My throat dried up and my stomach danced with angry bees as I imagined this man's reaction to our ludicrous story. If he really didn't have a phone, maybe we could run before he called the cops. But if he didn't have a phone, would he have internet? We still needed to get that blog viral.

  My cotton shirt clung to my body as sweat crawled down my back despite the cold. What if Professor Shaw wasn't even home? Then what would we do?

  Before I could create an alternate plan, the door opened, revealing a fit man in his sixties with a full head of white hair gracing his head like a halo. His clear blue eyes widened in surprise, but not anger. I immediately slipped into his mind to monitor him, despite how shaky I felt.

  'Good to see the boy. Looking a bit thin. Wonder what stories await from these three.... '

  His thoughts were benign, nothing to panic about. Yet.

  Brad and the professor hugged, then Brad turned to us. "Professor, these are my friends, Drake and Sam. We, um, need your help. Can we come in?"

  The professor opened the door wide and stepped aside. "Of course."

  We followed him into a spacious, entirely civilized living room with a deep, overstuffed couch, two armchairs, and a large coffee table that actually looked like an ottoman.

  Professor Shaw followed my eyes. "That table belonged to someone famous once. Be damned if I can ever remember who. Paid enough for it, though!"

  "You have a lovely home," I said.

  "Thank you. Now why don't you and Drake go sit down and make yourselves comfortable. Brad and I will get some drinks and snacks." He looked to Brad. "Come along."

  The guys dropped the luggage in the corner, and Drake and I sat on the couch while Brad and the professor disappeared into what was presumably the kitchen.

  'Well?' Drake asked.

  "Well, so far his thoughts are of normal things. He's happy to see Brad, loves him to death, actually, and he's curious about us. No red flags yet."

  'Okay. Don't exhaust yourself though. You shouldn't read him until you have to.'

  "I know. I'm fine."

  'Right.'

  Drake put his arm around me, and I sank into him, grateful for his strength.

  Clanking noises came from the kitchen, then both men walked through the swinging door carrying trays with sandwiches, fruit, juice and water.

  They set their trays on the famous ottoman, and Professor Shaw waved his hand over the food. "Please, help yourself."

  I greedily loaded my plate with food, and poured a glass of water. I hadn't realized how hungry and thirsty I'd been.

  Professor Shaw let us eat in silence, but once the last crumb had been licked off my lips, the questions began. "So tell me. What kind of trouble are you in and how can I help?"

  I froze. We'd told Brad our story, but he'd grown up with Drake. He knew this stuff existed. And yeah, we were about to spill it all on Brad's blog, but I didn't have to sit face-to-face with doubters and haters.

  Drake squeezed my hand. 'It's okay. If you hear anything off in his thoughts, we'll leave. We can overpower him physically or mentally. He can't hurt you.'

  I knew he meant that to be comforting, but it had the opposite effect. Professor Shaw didn't deserve to be "overpowered." We'd barged in on his life, uninvited and unannounced. How could we consider punishing him for not buying our story?

  All eyes in the room were on me, which I guess made sense, but I didn't have to like it. I took a deep breath and tried to still my shaking body. It didn't work.

  Professor Shaw's kind, understanding eyes held mine. "Just start from the beginning. I don't bite."

  So I did. I'd have thought that retelling my story would be easier. If anything, my vocal chords, as if working against my will, were more reluctant than ever to give up my secrets. All my life, I'd been told that if I revealed them to the wrong person, everything would be screwed.

  I talked for nearly an hour. No one so much as breathed too loud.

  My sweaty hand clutched Drake's cool palm. "So, that's the story. Whoever is after us is very dangerous. We didn't know where to go or what to do. Brad said we should come here."

  No one spoke for several minutes.

  A fly buzzed past my ear, startling me so bad I jumped and broke the silence with a chirp. I felt the blood rush to my face. "Sorry. Nerves."

  "Who wouldn't be nervous after all you've been through?" said Professor Shaw.

  'Poor girl. Can't believe she's been through so much. She must be exhausted.'

  My eyes flicked to him. "Professor, you believe me?"

  He harrumphed. "Please call me Bernard. And yes, I believe you."

  I couldn't help but grin. "Bernard Shaw. Really? As in the famous Irish playwright and novelist?"

  He smiled. "Yes. Actually, George Bernard Shaw, but I've always gone by Bernard. My parents had a sense of humor."

  "'A fool's brain digests philosophy into folly, science into superstition, and....'"

  "'...art into pedantry. Hence University education," Bernard finished. "One of my favorite quotes."

  So far, I liked him.

  My brain pounded from the lengthy connection. I rubbed my head.

  'Sam, pull out. If any red flags pop up, you can go back in, but you're going to kill yourself.'

  "Okay, for now. I just don't want any more surprises."

  The pressure eased as I slipped out of the Professor's mind, and I enjoyed the solitude of my own thoughts. "Why do you believe me? This story is preposterous. Don't you want to at least test us? Have me read your mind?"

  "All right, what am I thinking?"

  Drake frowned at me, but I slipped in and out just fast enough to grab his thought. 'Brad needs a girlfriend. He's wasting away as a bachelor.'

  "Ha! Really? Brad, apparently the good professor here thinks you need a girlfriend to fatten you up. Though I have to say that assuming the girl will feed him is a bit sexist."

  Brad sat up straighter. "I do not need a girl in my life right now. Are you kidding me? How would I even see her?"

  He made eye contact with me, then turned his head sharply and looked at Bernard
. "I know you're open-minded, but I didn't expect them to win you over so quickly. What aren't you telling us?"

  Bernard picked up his coffee cup and took a sip. "I spent a lot of years writing for some pretty big publications: Newsweek, U.S. News & World Report, The New York Times and L.A. Times. As an investigative reporter, it was my job to uncover the stories no one else could break. Once, when I was young and cocky, I landed on something I knew would be Pulitzer material, only I kept hitting dead ends. Not just normal, contacts-dried-up, leads-too-scared-to-talk dead ends, but literally—people kept ending up dead. All accidents, of course, unrelated to me or my story, but my gut told me there was more to it. I didn't take the hint. I kept prying."

  He put his mug down and pulled up his flannel shirt, revealing a fairly toned stomach for an old guy—and a nasty, familiar-looking scar.

  "You were shot." I rubbed the still-healing bullet wound on my own arm.

  Brad's eyebrows shot up. He'd obviously never heard this story.

  I asked the question I already knew the answer to. "What story were you working on?"

  He looked me straight in the eyes. "I'd met some very powerful people who, in exchange for not having their names plastered all over national headlines, offered me an interesting story about kids with paranormal abilities who are rented out as spies."

  My mouth dried up in an instant. I couldn't swallow. I grabbed my water and chugged it. Clients who broke Rent-A-Kid's confidentiality agreement faced serious harm. Though, it did make sense that someone would spill the beans eventually—especially if a famous reporter had serious dirt on them, and they needed to shine the spotlight on an even bigger story to protect themselves.

  Bernard continued, "Of course, I didn't believe them at first. They would have said or done anything to keep me from printing what I knew about them. But they had proof. They'd kept videos, pictures, and other records of the kids they hired. I looked through it all and.... What if it was true? The evidence was damning, but that could have been faked. So they agreed to hire a kid spy and let me see the powers firsthand."